


The Impossibility Of Taming Werewolves And Taking Vampires Out For Dinner

by PonyWaifu



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers - Freeform, M/M, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-21 23:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/906294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PonyWaifu/pseuds/PonyWaifu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Tony's and Steve's paths crossed in a bit different way? And what if they didn't even belong to the same species?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. - Encounter -

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Asuka Fuyukaze](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Asuka+Fuyukaze).



> Since my hun-bun discovered a lack of Stony-Vampire/Werewolf-AU-Fanfics, I thought I'd help out with that.
> 
> ... Oh gosh, what am I even doing? Someone stop me!
> 
> (Also, my English might make you wanna headdesk for a couple of hours, so... sorry. I'll pay for the headache pills.)
> 
> /Rated Mature because there will be sexy-time and possibly violence in future chapters./

Tony Stark didn't happen to pass by this little coffee shop in Brooklyn all too often – in fact he never has before and the only reason for him to be here right now is that Happy spontaneously drove his car into a fireplug. Tony was almost disappointed when there was no water shooting out from underground like it always does in movies, but it seems the hydrant was tougher than the Audi's front – just a company vehicle, so nothing to whine about.

And since he would be late for the meeting anyway he might as well skip it and let Pepper handle the details. Also, he was kind of hungry and should try to find something to eat...

That was exactly why he was heading to the coffee shop. Not because the muffins were moist or the coffee was excellent, but because of the people there. The average coffee shop customer was aged between 16 and 30, which was just about the category he preferred. Not that he would actually go for someone younger than 18 – not even 20, god no. But even if it sounded like a cliché, youth still had the best taste to it. (Except for those junk food eating and cigarettes smoking little brats.)

Most times, Tony didn't go to random coffee shops to check out the buffet. But his recent 'hunt' has been a failure – hard to admit, but true. The young lady had suddenly decided not to come along to his apartment and so Tony has ended up very, very hungry for a few days now. Usually there were always parties to attend, but this week there wasn't a single event that the billionaire could show up at to pick another victim. And if the intermissions between his meals got to big... well, he was definitely trying to avoid letting that happen.

When he entered the café, leaving his sunglasses on like he always does, even if the sun wasn't really shining or while being inside a building, he noticed that there were hardly any people here. In one corner there were a bunch of students, pretending to chew over some project for University or some other time wasting nonsense. Near the entrance there were two women chatting with each other – one pregnant, one with her baby sleeping in the buggy next to her. Nope. And of course there was that lonely, bleary-eyed author with his notebook, not able to write down a single word for his novel and letting his mind drift away instead.

All in all there was nothing appealing to be found in here, not even the young lady heading for the exit with her coffee to go, passing him by and leaving a wrinkled nose on his face from the awful stench that hit him. Smokers were the worst. They weren't even aware of _how_ bad they smelled to him.

At least the barista looked like someone he could impress with a short conversation and being fine with taking him to the storage room during break. Come to think of it, that sounded very much beneath Tony's dignity. But some things just cannot be helped.

It took him a few steps to get in line – if one guy standing in front of him was being considered a line. Patiently waiting he shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants, leaning to the side, just to get a glimpse of what this guy might have ordered, but to find out that he didn't even order anything yet.

"We don't serve 'just coffee', Mister. You have to choose from our assortment", the young, good-looking barista with the short, wavy, brown hair and a pair of adorable glasses suggested.

"I don't know what all those.. names are about. I've never heard of a.. chapu-.."

"It's cappuccino", Tony blunted from behind the tall, blonde man. "Tastes great, you'll love it", he assured him, intentionally to get him out of the way.

Obviously irritated, the man whirled around, staring at Tony as if he was a ghost – maybe he didn't hear him approaching? Still looking at Tony, he slowly turned to the barista and hummed. "I'll.. take that then, I guess."

"Decaffeinated or normal? With milk or soymilk? To go or-", she started interrupted by Tony, now stepping next to the man.

"Caffeine, milk and he'll have it here", he just decided randomly because it was plain to see that the guy wasn't capable of making those decisions and the young lady wasn't able to deal with it. Maybe Tony has been misjudging her for being smart because if the glasses.

Two minutes later she served the cappuccino, just as simple as it could possibly be, except for the leaf on top, created with milk froth. But when the guy intended to pay for the coffee the barista just looked down on the money with the most skeptical face Tony has ever seen in his entire life.

"What is this?", she asked – and it wasn't hard to guess why. The money the guy wanted to pay with seemed kind of... off. Well, those were dollars, just not the kind of dollars you'd normally pay with, but get to see at a museum. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Even more irritated than before the man looked at the slightly crumpled-up bank notes. "Why? What's wrong with it?" Even Tony had to ask himself if the guy was just making a fool of her or really didn't see the problem here.

"Did you find those on the attic at your gramps' house?", Tony joined in again, somehow amused by this situation but then sighing and taking out his own wallet to pay for the coffee – not because he wanted to talk to the barista anymore (he already lost interest in her), but because he felt kind of pity for this guy. The barista rolled her eyes and asked Tony for his order, but he just shook his head and told her to keep the rest. Sixteen dollars as a tip should be enough for her to get over this incident and not to call the police to press charges against this poor fellow for counterfeiting money.

"Thanks", the guy finally said when grabbing the cup and turning to Tony, seeming just as embarrassed as upset.

"Welcome", Tony briefly replied, taking one of the bank notes right out of the man's other hand before he could put them away. While heading for one of the tables, assuming the blonde would follow him, he examined the note thoroughly. He could downright feel the nervous look the other one gave him while he sat down across the small table Tony had chosen.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Tony has always been upfront like that even if he actually was holding back a little because he didn't quite know yet what to think about this guy. He seemed a bit odd and, somehow, had something strangely unworldly to him... which might be because of the khaki pants he was wearing.

But what kept Tony's mind busy, other than the out-of-fashion-dollar in his hand, was this man's scent. There was something to it he couldn't name yet.

"I wonder about that myself", he heard from across the table after the man took a sip from his cappuccino. His voice sounded not a single bit sarcastic or anything like that and his facial expression seemed sincerely honest and serious, while Tony's look on the contrary darkened slightly while he stopped to twirl the dollar between his fingers and put the almost antique piece of paper back on the table, pushing it in the other man's direction.

Now he knew what this fragrance reminded him of.

"I'm just passing through", the stranger admitted as if trying to make his previous words sound less unreasonable. But Tony wasn't interested in his origins anymore. Instead, he kept staring at him, relentlessly and piercing.

"Running away, huh?"

The guy seemed confused at first, but then eyed Tony suspiciously. "Excuse me?"

"So I'm right", the billionaire concluded and even though the slight, triumphal smile didn't get through to the surface it echoed along with his voice.

There was a short pause before the blonde found his voice again. "I don't see how that's any of your business", he reacted a bit more aggressively than expected.

"It IS my business since this is my territory."

"Territory?"

"Yeah, and I don't like the sight of your kind around here." While Tony's voice sounded perfectly calm and neutral the other man remained silent and finally, after a few moments, barely visible shook his head.

"I don't know what you're talking about", he insisted on playing dumb in Tony's eyes and got up from his seat. Well, if what his new little friend wanted was straightforwardness, he shall get it.

"Tomorrow night's full moon, isn't it?"

The blonde instantly froze, almost standing up straight and already halfway turned to face the exit. Almost in slow motion he looked over his shoulder in Tony's direction, who restrained himself from putting on a shit eating grin. So he _was_ right.

"Either you're trying to get away from home as far as possible for that night.. or you're already on the run", he dared to jump to another conclusion.

"I..." Slowly but steady the guy sat back down, giving Tony a look as if not sure to trust or distrust him. "You know about... that?"

This time there was no way Tony could have held back from grinning.

"Sweetheart, I've hunted down enough of your kind. So yeah, I _do_ know a few things about it", he said, not even trying hard to lower his voice which was probably why the man on the other side of the table let his eyes quickly scan the area for people who might be listening. Well, at least he was aware of how delicate the subject was. So to put him a little at ease, Tony leaned a little closer. "You didn't do your homework, I see... you're probably a freshman, so I'll excuse that."

That didn't really help much, though, because the other one instantly frowned. "Who are you?", he longed to know and even if he hadn't spoken those words out loud, Tony would have guessed that he might want to learn about who he is dealing with by now.

A strange, little smirk appeared upon Tonys lips when he stared right into those endlessly blue eyes.

"A genius billionaire playboy philanthropist... and your greatest foe."


	2. - Menace -

A genuine billing clerk toy-boy pedophi-... what?

Steve couldn't quite catch up with that gush of words sputtering out of the other one's mouth. But more important than this narcissistic verbiage was the word at the very end of the statement: foe. However good this guy's intentions had seemed at the beginning, Steve highly doubted that the smile on his face was of good nature.

The very second he had looked into this stranger's face he had known that there was something peculiar to him and the more kindly he had treated him – at least kind enough to pay for the coffee – the more wary Steve had become. For the durance of one second he really _had_ thought this guy might not just be handsome but also generous, only to realize that he should really only trust his instincts.

Slowly he leaned against the chair rest, crossing his arms and still staring at the brunette man's face. He really wondered just how he managed to figure out who (or rather what) he was right away. There weren't any visible hints, at least not yet, were there? Feeling the urge to check on his looks Steve slightly turned his head to the glass panel almost next to him.

"Don't worry, it hasn't started yet."

Steve slightly winced at the sound of the other man's voice, asking himself if he was something like a mind reader. Somehow this guy gave him the creeps, but still didn't scare him enough for Steve to take flight... yet.

It was conspicuous that this man actually knew about _it_... about what has been haunting Steve not only for the past days but, as a matter of fact, for some decades now even though he kind of skipped quite a few years – about seventy, if he wasn't mistaken. And he was still trying to figure out how he happened to 'fall asleep' in the 40ies and 'wake up' in a whole nother millennium.

When he had woken up he had found himself locked in something that resembled a coffin, only less comfortable and belted with heavy chains. It had taken him a few tries to break those, feeling a tiny bit worn out after such a long while since he last moved his limbs. And of course he had recovered consciousness just at the right time when there were only a few days left until the moon would shine to its fullest.

This coffee was the first thing he ingested even though his hunger was immense. He just hadn't dared to purchase anything edible yet, let alone to take a single step into any store or supermarket. Besides, he's had other stuff to do, like... orientating.

When he had seen the almost empty coffee shop he had plucked up all courage he could come up with, he entered, thinking that there couldn't have possibly changed anything with coffee. Right? Wrong!

Sure, 'cappuccino' had been brought to America somewhat during the 30ies, but had only been served at high standard cafés which Steve never once had entered. He had read the name of it somewhere before but never had needed to speak it out loud up until now. At his favourite diner he always had ordered 'just coffee' without any folderol, and it had tasted pretty good.

"So you really don't know who I am?"

Again there was a certain ringing in Steve's head when that man's voice pushed through to him, parting the fog of thoughts he had been drifting into. Slowly he set his sight on his sponsor but not moving another muscle except the ones required for speaking and staring.

"Should I?", he reacted drily, causing the brunette to raise his eyebrows.

"You probably should", the man answered not in a suggesting but rather demanding tone of voice. "First, it's always a pro to know your enemy, and second, you're missing out on a very suitable topic for any party if you don't know who Tony Stark is."

"Never heard of that name", Steve responded right away.

"Then you must've been living on the moon for the past thirty years or something."

"Seventy. And I wasn't on the moon, I was trapped inside a coffin", Steve bluntly replied without thinking about the consequences of telling his so-called 'greatest foe' too many details, followed by biting his lower lip because he just realized that this might not be the smartest idea.

"... Isn't that what I'm supposed to do?"

Visibly confused, Steve's eyes narrowed as they still didn't let go of the sight of those warm, dark brown irides. "Come again?"

"Nevermind", the putative favourer promptly responded with a hard to interpret smirk, but concerning the look on the guy's face Steve figured that he reckoned him as slightly retarded.

Said smirk started to fade pretty quickly, though, as if the man Steve still didn't know how to address to – 'Mr. Stark' seemed too formal for someone who declared himself as the enemy – was trying to figure out something. Something about Steve.

"You still haven't told me... how you came to know...", the blonde started mostly because he felt like he needed to put a stop to whatever thoughts the other one was having. He almost felt those brain waves piercing through his skull and entering his head... and that was not exactly the most comfortable feeling. Unfortunately Tony-Whoever-That-Guy-Was-Stark didn't jump on that train.

"There's no need to tell you", he said calmly but with a certain undertone in his voice that made it all to obvious that Steve was in no position to demand any information. That guy made him feel like he was a kid that had done or was about to do something terribly wrong, now being scolded by a firm but fair... and somehow spooky adult.

"Everything you need to know is: As long as you get your ass out of New York City before you go all berserk we're gonna be best friends. If it's about the money, I'll gladly pop for a flight to Nebraska... or any other state... or continent."

Tiny wrinkles appeared between Steve's eyebrows as they moved closer to each other, giving expression to his annoyance.

"Tell me one good reason why I should even listen to you", Steve urged. "I'm a soldier, no, a captain of the U.S. Army, I'm taller by almost one head, trained in martial arts and-"

"And you have not a single fucking clue what you're dealing with."

Steve froze when he felt those words being hissed into his ear, staring right at the other man's shoulder directly in front of him while a strong hand applied pressure to Steve's upper arm. Something told him that he shouldn't even start questioning how his opponent was able to move _that_ fast, almost invisible to the eye.

"You know, I wasn't joking earlier. I've slayed a bunch of you guys... big ones... really hairy ones...", the voice appeared again, even more threatening than before while a cold breeze seemed to graze his ear, leaving Steve confused because he couldn't figure out where it came from.

"So you better keep running, little wolfie... because the next time we meet will be the last time."

Steve almost expected another sudden movement. Hell, for one second he had been sure that guy would just pull a knife and stab him... and he wouldn't even have had the slightest chance to dodge the attack. But to his surprise nothing like that happened. The other man slowly raised himself, even patted the tall blonde's shoulder and exited the café without another word, leaving behind a pale-faced man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda short, I know. It's more like an extension of chapter 1 which I had to split up because of a self-set deadline and a change to Steve's PoV. Still hope you enjoyed it a little. :3


	3. - Conversion -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note:
> 
> There has been a minor change to this chapter for the purpose of future story development. You probably won't notice that something (someone) is gone until it (she) comes up later again, in some completely different way that I had planned to. Look forward to it, though. Things might get interesting.

Minutes later Steve was still paralyzed by the words of his self-appointed foe, as well as by the mere touch of his hand on his arm and shoulder. Only a slight shiver could finally release him from this rigidity long after the other man had left the café.

Trying to focus on one thought only – and any though would have been okay – instead of a million at once he stared at the coffee cup in front of him, luckily placed on the table because he was sure he would have dropped it at the very moment Stark had touched him. There had been something cold not just in his voice but also about his touch – Steve was ridiculously sure about that even though there was no chance that he could have felt that through the fabric of his leather jacket.

After some time, being glad that no one at the coffee shop had noticed this incident or overheard the conversation, Steve managed to get up from his chair, again looking at the cup and hesitating. It was not like the coffee was poisoned or anything... so it would be a waste not to drink it, no matter who paid for it. One huge sip later he put the cup back on the table, maybe a bit too noisy because the two ladies with the kid nearby flinched a little and gave him deprecating stares.

"Sorry", Steve promptly said, trying to put on something like an apologizing smile but obviously failing because their looks turned even more sceptical. Sighing, he turned on his heel, deciding to better leave this place before anymore weird things would happen to him.

Absorbed in thought he ran his fingers along his left cheek, feeling for something that wasn't even there yet. Usually it didn't start off with facial hair but with hair growth on his arms and legs, then the chest while at some point he would grow the first few stubbles along his jaw.

Transforming into one of those beasts isn't like people think it is (or rather _would_ think if they believed in that kind of stuff anyway). It's not something that's done within a few minutes. It's a slow and really painful process, especially as soon as the bones start to crack and rearrange, building a skeleton that's neither that of an animal nor a human's. Sometimes skin would rip in certain places that extended way too fast for it to adapt, leaving a scar that would forever remind you of your curse after you've once again spent one night of slaughtering.

Steve suddenly felt sick like he always did when thinking about that. This would be only the third time for him to go through this metamorphosis, because right after the second time – and he still wondered _how_ – he had been caught and locked away, and he was sure he would never get used to it.

First he would have to find shelter. Anyplace would be fine as long as nobody came across. It wouldn't only be humiliating to be seen this way, crouched on the floor, whimpering in pain, sometimes even screaming. It would be best if no one could hear him either. But most importantly: Anyone brave or dumb enough to approach him would be in great danger, even if his transformation wasn't complete yet.

For the rest of the day Steve kept straying through New York City, hoping to find some place that looked solid enough to withstand his attacks as soon as he fell into rage. Of course it had been a risk to come here, to a city inhabited by far over 8 million people, but this was the only place that Steve thought could provide a few empty but still intact buildings with walls that might be capable of holding him back from breaking free.

On the next day, after staying awake during the night, at around 7 pm he finally reached Red Hook, an area of Brooklyn he could oh so well remember. Where there had once been one of the proudest harbors of New York there were only a few things left that reminded of those times. Steve remembered well that back in the 40ies they began to alter the whole area, trying to create more living space due to urbanisation – good intentions with a questionable outcome. Steve didn't exactly know what happened during the past few decades but it was clear to see that this district had gone through a lot.

At least now it came in handy that there were hardly any people around. Steve's ears had already taken a strange shape, becoming slightly sharp-ended on the upper end, and hair had started to grow on the backs of his hands.

While looking around his thoughts started to drift off in a certain someone's direction – not Bucky, his best friend and brother in arms, not even his mother, none like that. Right now, thinking about them was out of the question – too much emotions would come through to the surface when he would let the certainty about all of them most likely being dead already enter his mind.

No, of all things he could have thought of the guy he had run into yesterday came to his mind. That coffee-treating jerk.

Steve still had no clue about who he was. He had told him his name, sure, but that name didn't help much since he had never heard of it before. Well, how could he have? He had lost consciousness when the guy hadn't even been born yet.

What had he babbled about? Steve remembered something about a billionaire... and a playboy, if he wasn't mistaken. The latter reminded him of someone else he had known years ago. Howard had been just as charismatic as that guy was. Come to think of it, they even looked pretty much alike, at least regarding eyes and lips. Even their expressions have much in common, Steve thought. And if it wasn't enough, they shared the same sur-

_No._

They couldn't possibly be relatives, now could they? Nah, Stark was a pretty common name and there was no way that someone like Howard Stark could have had offspring. Not a womanizer like him. Well, at least not within the context of marriage.

Still, what if-...

Steve vehemently shook his head. There wasn't time for What-Ifs.

Finally he reached something that looked like an old factory, unoccupied for at least ten years. Broken windows, unhinged or completely missing doors... not a place that seemed very reliable when it comes to sustaining the attacks of a werewolf, one might think. But Steve didn't expect any brick walls to be a patch on him anyway. He was looking for a room to completely shut himself away, surrounded by concrete and steel, preferably with a double door system.

Entering what once must have been the main storage hall through the (missing) back door, Steve's hand more unwittingly than really aware of it found its way to his left ear, flinching when it felt freshly grown hair on top of his ear. Not a good sign. He knew that he had about an hour left before the pain would start to overcome his mind. Well, his body hurt already, but that was nothing he couldn't deal with so far.

Once in a while luck seemed to be on his side, though, presenting to him just what he needed: a hallway in the basement full of heavy armor-plated doors. At least _one_ of them must be open, right?

Wrong.

One door after another simply refused to open, no matter how hard Steve tried. Damn, those were shut tight – or maybe just rusty. In any case, those doors were just perfect... if only he could open at least a single one.

Steve strained himself, trying to pull as hard as he could, but the door wouldn't move a single centimeter. Where had all his strength gone? Right... as soon as his body entered that phase it was like he'd never had any super-human powers. He became weak, vulnerable... almost like he had been before the serum. Another good reason to stay put and not let anyone come near him during that time. The 'likes of him' didn't exactly have many allies, as he had just been reminded of.

As if his body had just decided to go along with Steve's thoughts, a cruelly hot pain jerked through his torso, much too abrupt for Steve to suppress a scream. With eyes wide open the blonde man leaned against the door, holding onto it, feeling hair slowly spreading over his body.

"Too... soon...", he grumbled, jaw clenched and fingers wrapped around the fucking handle that won't let him in. With all his might he pushed himself from the door, cursing and aiming for the next one, even though he had already tried every single one of them. So he straight-forwardly tried to ram it, knowing it wouldn't work but feeling utterly helpless and running out of options.

Then the buzzing started. It was a low-frequency noise, starting off harmlessly but Steve already knew that it'd become much worse, reaching its maximum right when he would be about to lose awareness of his surroundings.

It was too late to look for another place to stay. At least he had walked pretty deep into the underground tunnel system underneath the factory. Maybe – hopefully – the beast wouldn't find a way out...

Clenching his teeth he held his hurting shoulder he had hit the door with while he moved forward even farther along the hallway, now leaving the area with all those stultifying doors and reaching another corridor that lead to something that looked like a former laboratory. There were a few tables, fastened on the ground and therefore probably left in place, some empty lockers and old sinks, as well as broken glass all over the floor. Steve probably would have started to wonder about what kind of factory this had been, but right now there were other things occupying his mind and distracting him... like the pain rushing through his muscles and veins, slowly drilling into his bones.

Panting he found purchase on one of the tables, bending over and burying his face in the crook of his right arm. In his head only a few days had passed since his last transformation, but his body had been spared from this torture for decades and was far from being used to the pain. It felt even worse than the first time, he thought by himself while gnashing his teeth painfully hard.

Up until now Steve had never been sure about whether this change from human into beast was _that_ painful and long lasting for everyone affected by the curse, but Stark obviously knew about this slow procedure – at least considering his comment yesterday when he assured the blonde that there weren't any visible signs yet. He seemed to know an awful lot about werewolves in general, most likely a lot more than Steve did. Maybe it would have been wise to try and draw more details from that know-it-all...

Not a chance. It wouldn't have been all too smart to stay near someone who claimed to have killed people. Or creatures. Or people who turn into creatures.

But Steve needed more information – about this time, about this world and about everything that had changed, but _most_ of all he needed to know everything there was to know about this curse. And he had let the perfect opportunity to gather a good bunch of information slip by because he had been too big of a fraidy cat. He should have just stood up against that snooty, stuck up-

"You're either not a good listener or just too stupid to know what a threat is."

Steve jerked at the very first word filling the spacious, mostly empty room, almost creating a surreal echo, searching for the voice's source, even if he recognized who's it was right away.

Finally two, three steps revealed the man's position, right behind Steve, so the blonde slowly turned around only far enough to get a glimpse of the barely visible silhouette perfectly matching with the shadows of that corner. How did Stark get there without him noticing? Well, Steve _had_ been kind of distracted by his own misery. Even an elephant could have sneaked up behind him.

"You shouldn't be here", Steve warned him but only causing the guy to laugh drily.

"No, _you_ shouldn't be here", he replied, "I told you to get your ass out of town, didn't I?"

"Easier.. said than-"

Instead of ending his sentence, Steve coughed, suppressing a dark growl trying to swarm up his throat.

"There, there..", he heard the man speak as he drew near, "Is little wolfie in pain?"

Steve wouldn't even reply to that if he were able to. But this time the growl was plainly audible.

"Oh, in pain _and_ angry... I better be cautious then", the stranger smirked as he came to stop in front of Steve.

When the blonde found himself uncomfortably close to the other man he tried to draw back but ended up butting against the table after a few centimetres.

"You don't know what I'm capable of. If you don't get out-"

"Then what?", Stark interrupted, grabbing the fabric right beneath Steve's collar and leaning even closer. "Will you kill me?" His voice was nothing more than an amused whisper. "Will you devour me?"

Steve gulped, frowning because he was just as confused as riveted by the sight of the other man's face up close. Staring right into those brown irides he seemed totally paralyzed... again.

"I might...", was the only thing he could silently utter. Even if that guy had threatened him – more than once – Steve still wouldn't want this to happen.

"I expect your best effort then", he heard the brunette man reply with a grin.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I."

Was this guy insane?!

Now it was Steve's turn to grab him by the shoulders, forcing him to take a step back and let go of his shirt. That idiot's attitude was annoying.

"You have to go! Right now!", Steve urged. "I don't know how long I'll be able to-... it's... starting sooner than I thought.."

"Yeah, that might be my fault", Stark replied as if he was talking about the weather forecast. "Greatest foe, remember?", he reminded him of what he said earlier, noticing that questioning look the blonde gave him, then sighing. "Your body reacts to my presence because it's aware of the danger, even if you are not", he explained with an eyebrow raised as he let his eyes wander along Steve's body swiftly.

"But how-...." Steve's voice almost cracked, his face now starting to show the pain he was in. He could already feel the increasing tension in his bones right before they would start to burst.

"Yeah.. definitely a terrible listener", the other man sighed. "I _just_ explained it to you..."

"Great, but it _still_ doesn't make any sense to me", Steve barked, losing his temper. "I don't know what _all_ of this is about! I have no clue what I'm doing here or who you are and-.. agh..."

Steve tried to reach for the table again but failing and sinking to his knees instead, hands pressed against his temples. 

"Get... out!", he once again tried to talk him into leaving.

"Why should I? I'd totally miss out on all the fun", he heard the man laugh.

Steve clenched his teeth, letting out a sharp hiss. He didn't want to hurt anybody... not even that jerk.

"Please... go...", was the last thing he managed to rasp before the first loud snap generated by his spine filled the hall and everything went to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might take a little longer to be finished due to vacation, but I hope you still look forward to it. :3


	4. - Confrontation -

Would you consider not only a grown-up man but also a werewolf telling their prey or enemy to leave before they could strike cute or stupid? A tough call, but Tony would rather go with cute although he couldn't decide yet if his decision was based on the man wanting to spare his life or being naïve enough to think he would stand a chance against a vampire. Whichever it was, adorableness and foolishness were both outdone by sheer annoyance on behalf of Tony.

It had been a while since he had watched a man transmuting into a werewolf – and never before had he witnessed it at close quarters. Even if he didn't let it show, the first loud crack resounding from the walls of the room made him hold his breath (breathing was only a left-over-habit, anyway) for a second.

"That didn't sound too pleasant", the dark-haired man mumbled rather underwhelmed right before the next snap filled the air, followed by a half-cry-half-yelp. It seemed like most of the man's muscles went limp while only his bones kept trembling, moving, bursting and quickly healing to form a whole new being. The faint smell of blood reached his nostrils as he followed the event, knowing it must come from all the small wounds caused by the change from man into monster. Tony calmly watched as the poor guy could barely stay on all fours, shivering and jerking whenever there was another wave of pain rushing though his body.

At least there was one advantage to being a vampire – and there weren't many. Once the transformation was done, it was done. You won't have to go through it over and over again, every fucking month. But still, turning into a werewolf couldn't possibly be as painful as becoming a vampire, Tony thought by himself while observing the arched body right before his feet. Vampires may not undergo any visible transformation (except the canines), but their bodies were being restructured anyway and even if it didn't look as brutal as the change into something hairy and stinking it still hurt like hell.

But instead of thinking back to that time Tony preferred to watch the dramatic scenery. The transformation was progressing pretty fast, actually. He knew that it would take several hours for a human body to go through these changes – normally. But just as he had announced, his presence was giving him a 'boost' because the beast inside the man could already smell the enemy and was craving for a chance to shred him to pieces.

Werewolves and vampires weren't exactly best pals, indeed.

Another shriek of pain filled the hall and Tony remained still, watching the whole thing in complete apathy while folding his arms.

"Much ado about nothing", he quoted while patiently waiting for little wolfie to come out to play, nevertheless taking one step back when the other man's arms started to twitch, one of them already aiming in his direction before claws were buried into solid ground. An indefinable smirk appeared on the brunette's face. Maybe this wouldn't turn out as boring as he had thought it would.

A short whine reached his ears, sounding more like the noise of an animal than a human's, when he 'unintentionally' stepped forward and right onto the man's hand. He could feel fingers cracking beneath his shoe – not because of the weight he put on them but because they were still growing, becoming razor-sharp tools. Still, Tony knew that the guy was no threat to him in a state where he wasn't even able to control his limbs.

"As pathetic as ever", Tony muttered, his eyes still resting on the now almost quivering figure before him. Of course he didn't refer to this specimen in particular, but to others he had seen. Werewolves were powerful – that was something beyond debate. But in this state each of them was nothing more than a fragile little puppy. At least for a short while...

... for a _very_ short while. This one sure was fast when it came to growing larger extremities, shaggy fur and dangerous fangs. Even though Tony had kept an eye on him, from one moment to the next the man's face had grown short, greyish-brown hair almost all over and had already changed its shape to the point where it began to resemble the grimace of a creature more than the countenance of a human being.

That guy was _really_ pissed. No doubt about it.

Just when Tony was about to consider taking a step back, the counterpiece of the hand he had just stepped on snapped forward to clench around his ankle, most likely only not burying those claws into his joint because the hand had already grown too large. It didn't look like it, but the sudden movement and the tight, forceful grip around his leg really startled him for a moment.

"So? What are y-", he started grinning cynically right before the grin was whipped off his handsome face when suddenly he lost ground and unexpectedly hit the same with his hands and back when he tried to cushion his fall.

Damn, he didn't see that one coming...

But he wasn't eager to find our what pubescent little beastie boy had in stock for him, either, so he delicately rolled himself to the side and got up within the same fluent movement, facing his antagonist again while bending his knees a little and tilting his upper body forward, striking a pose that might seem just as defensive as aggressive.

A sharp howl dashed through the hall, bouncing off the massive, empty walls and piercing Tony's eardrums. No one could possibly transform _that_ fast... can they? Never before had he met anyone that could. Even while a few parts had yet to be fully developed and the state of permanent pain had to be far from over, the former tall, blonde man now arose as a beast. And even after transforming he was quite a bit taller than his fellow wolf-buddies.

_Well fuck_ , was about the only thing Tony could come up with as he stared into the fading azure in the other one's eyes.

He couldn't care less about eye colors, though, when sharply defined, almost glimmering white fangs were shown as the huge, wolf-like creature snarled towards him, still flinching every now and then when another bone audibly snapped but healed in an instant.

"Looks like someone's in a playful mood", Tony grinned nevertheless. The last thing he would ever do was to chicken out from a damn werewolf.

But obviously little wolfie had no intentions on backing down either, lowering its head and piercing its opponent with almost lethal glances.

Warming phase was officially over when the beast's hind legs downright vaulted its body towards Tony, who had no time to react differently than GD&R. Except for the running-part. The grin, in fact, didn't even slightly fade from his lips; no mere mongrel could ever catch up to the speed of his movements.

Or at least he had thought so. Within the blink of an eye the werewolf shifted and came right at him again, causing Tony to exhale in surprise and this time jumping over the creature as its jaw luckily only bit into cold, stagnant air.

_Luckily?_ Thanks to a vampire's fast reactions, of course, duh.

Right behind the assailant Tony's feet landed on the ground again steadily, as if jumping about 5 feet high over some hairy, slightly angry monster was a completely normal thing to do. He didn't make an attempt to retaliate yet, though – of course he knew exactly what to do to end this quickly... but that wouldn't be any fun at all, would it?

The beast only growled when turning around again and Tony only sneered right back at it.

"It's on, pup. Don't hold back...", he said in an almost honeyed voice while his face, on the very contrary, expressed sheer mockery.  
And he was about to get exactly what he wanted.

Even faster than before the werewolf yet again went after him, this time not only trying to bury its teeth into the no longer mortal body but also making use of its claws. Tony could easily dodge the attacks – not as easy as usually but still without any problems. That was until he hit one of those stupid laboratory benches with his patootie and could not draw back anymore. Therefore (thanks to that son of a b...ench) the werewolf was able to literally draw first blood. Thick, dark red blood.

But this was far from over. Nearly Matrix-like – nah, way cooler than that – Tony tilted his upper body backwards over the table, hitting it hard with the back of his head (okay, maybe not so cool) while he saw the wolf's paw flit right over him, missing the tips of his nose and chin merely by an inch.

If Tony hadn't just lost the ground beneath his feet he could have easily pushed himself off the table but due to surprise and the lack of renitency he missed a beat and gave his opponent the perfect chance to nail him down. Well... the fresh wound on his side where sharp claws had just torn not only the fabric but also the skin underneath might have been a reason why he couldn't move for a moment, too. 

When he looked up a pair of dull, golden eyes gazed right at him and a dark, menacing grumble thrilled his ears to fill his head with sinister vibration. But worst of all... was the bad breath. Hell, someone hand this guy a mint, please!

But right after wrinkling his nose Tony realized one thing: He still had his head on and neither arms nor legs nor other extremities were missing yet – which was pretty surprising concerning that one of the world's most erratic beings was enthroned upon his body... just staring at him. Now, what the hell was wrong with this one? It could have ripped Tony apart the very second he had hit the table's surface but instead it just gave him a piercing look that seemed to become less and less aggressive while even its growl grew silent after a few short moments. If Tony hadn't known better, he could have sworn that it was contemplating over... something.

No. Werewolves don't _think_. They only follow their out-of-hand-instincts and hunt and slaughter and-

"Get your stinking yap out of my face!", Tony yelled, suddenly ramming one leg right upwards against the creature's thorax, hefting it without any effort and tossing it against one of the walls, causing the ferroconcrete to crumble and the canine creature to howl. Clenching his teeth Tony got up again, not even attempting to stop the blood flow. There was none because the blood had dried within seconds and sealed the wound. Of course that didn't mean that it would heal in an instant - even a vampire's body needed some time to do that, although not quite as much as a normal human's - or that the pain would stop right away. 

Tony wasn't the only one bracing up, though. The beast also got up on all fours, baring its teeth again, deflating an almost rattling noise from within its throat.

"Is that all you got? Come on!", the vampire obviously tried to prompt another assault... causing quite the opposite. Instead of attacking him the werewolf just turned its tail and fled.

"Hey! Come back here!!"

Tony immediately took up the chase but had to give up halfway along the corridor, cursing these goddamn, way too solidly fastened tables and a certain someone that just took off instead of fighting him. If the wound would just hurt a little less and not slow him down... he would have chased after that coward to the very end of the earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to finish this chapter - and for no-progress-at-all. X'D *sigh*
> 
> (Happy quarterversary, hun. ♡)


	5. - Famishment -

Dry throat, sore muscles and major headache - quite normal signs of a hangover, right? Well, multiply that by a couple of thousand times and you might come close to feeling how Steve Rogers felt when he woke up in some back yard in Harlem. Neither did he know how the heck he got here, nor did he remember any of the events of past night. But it didn't take him too long to figure out that it must have been full moon and therefore he had lost control of himself again.

Growling in pain he sat up but instantly looked down - not because he just noticed that he happened to be completely naked, but to spot a considerably big bruise on his chest. His thorax was okay, as far as he could tell, but something must have hit him pretty hard there because he felt it was a tiny bit more difficult to breathe now than usual.

Steve was not at all of whiny nature but as he heaved himself to his feet a short, sharp hiss passed his lips. This may not be the first "afterglow" he experienced... but without any doubt the worst so far.

Just then he realized – in fact he realized it before, the information just hadn't reached his brain up until now – that he _was_ completely naked! It wasn't a first time for that to happen either, but the past two times he hadn't woken up in a place for people to see him like this. What if there were _children_ nearby? Instantly Steve covered his privates with his hands, but luckily it seemed to be too early for people to leave their houses around here on a Sunday morning.

... It was Sunday, right?

Sighing he looked around. He was really starting to lose track of too many things. Anyone in his situation probably would, but that was no excuse for Steve. Right now he had to focus. He needed clothes, a warm bath and breakfast before he would repair the fence he must have torn down when he entered the yard... and when he realized that none of this would happen he let out an even deeper sigh.

A dog's bark – luckily from a distance – made him arise from his gloomy thoughts and scan the area again for useful things that might at least be of some sort of help. And maybe his luck hadn't left him completely, he thought, because a few yards to his left he saw something that looked like a circular clothesline. He had seen a commercial for these things, they were brand new... or at least they had been back then... but he couldn't remember what they were called. Anyway, he couldn't care less about the details as long as there were clothes on those lines. Fitting clothes, hopefully.

As fast as he could (keeping his hands exactly where they were) he approached the laundry line. Only then he lifted his hands, hesitantly beginning to spin it around its own centre, looking for at least a pair of trousers that seemed fitting... and hitting payday. There were only jeans hanging on the line (except for one skirt which he definitely wasn't going to wear) so those would have to do. In fact, he had seen a lot of people running around in jeans but it seemed as if their looks had changed dramatically over the past decades. They were... tighter. Too tight, if you asked Steve, but he would be the wrong person to refer to when fashion advice was needed. Still, he wondered if there were still any chinos to be found...

Christ, those jeans were really tight. After putting on a fitting pair of boxers Steve had some trouble fitting into those and could only hope that they would soften a bit after wearing them for a couple of hours. Little did he know that anyone around here would call them 'quite alright fitting' but he was used to good old khakis after all.

After grabbing the biggest t-shirt available he took another look around to make sure, nobody had seen him. God, he felt like a criminal. He _was_ a criminal, because stealing was a crime! But on the other hand he was just trying to preserve innocent children and women from the view of his naked body... so it was okay, wasn't it?

Now at least partly clothed (walking around barefoot wasn't his favourite thing but he would manage that) the first thing for him to do was to put some daylight between him and these yards before anyone would see the mess he had made. Not only the one he woke up in was quite a bit demolished, it seemed as if he had dragged something heavy (like... himself, duh) right from one garden to the next, and even if they must have been in a bad condition before that, Steve felt bad for making them look worse. If only he had at least some money on him so he could come up for any of the damage or the 'borrowed' clothes, but even if he had, people probably wouldn't recognize it as money.

A few blocks later he finally dared to slow his steps. Luckily he wasn't sensitive for heat or cold at all, so the short sleeves and his bare feet were no big deal - he just had to keep his eyes on the ground to make sure he didn't step on anything unpleasant.

Eventually his head kept tilting back when he took a look at the still slightly visible moon. Dawn had already began to brighten up the sky but that stubborn little fellow didn't want to give up so easily, it seemed. It looked pale, though, and soon the sun would conquer the firmament and hopefully kick its a-

_"Ouch!"_

Well, that's what you get for thinking bad about one of god's creations: a stone right in the sole of your left foot.

Steve deeply buried his hands in the pockets of a stranger's trousers and felt as guilty as never before – or at least very, _very_ guilty. He didn't even venture to go by bus or train because he felt like he had already done enough damage to his surroundings so it would be unacceptably rude to just use public transport that all the good and honest citizen and tax-payers of New York financially compensated for...  (Steve Rogers Logic)

Everything around him still seemed so unreal – buildings, shops, people. The only thing that felt real to him and served as reinsurance that he wasn't just dreaming all of this was the pain in his chest, not only caused by the bruise but also by his insides sorrowfully tightening every time he thought of how badly he wanted to return to his home... to his time.

After a few hours wandering through the streets, instinctively aiming for the centre of the city, even though he didn't quite know what he was searching for, he felt weakness sneaking up his legs and spine. He hadn't eaten in a long time and sleep hadn't been an option either last night, so he decided to rest a few moments and took a seat on a bench near a bus station.

A man, about 50 years old, gave him the most sinister look when he leaned forward and lowered his head, burying his fingers in his blonde but not exactly well-tended hair. Whether it were the bare feet that irritated him, the messy hair or the odor (Steve probably smelled like wet dog), the man lowered his newspaper and wrinkled his nose, then stood up and left.

When Steve more unconsciously followed the sudden movement with his eyes, he noticed that the man had left his newspaper behind. Maybe New York citizens' manners weren't as good as Steve had thought them to be.

Still, if it weren't for that environment polluting man, Steve wouldn't have got his hands on the newspaper from which's cover a familiar face stared back at him.

Dark hair, a well trimmed goatee and the most expressive brown eyes Steve had probably seen in his life.

 _'TONY STARK – GENIUS OF THE CENTURY'_ the article titled which made Steve rise an eyebrow. Well... he _had_ made an educated and smart impression but did he deserve that title?

Choosing to ignore his hunger for a little while longer Steve began to read the article that spread over two whole sides. Line after line he began to realize why it had been a surprise to the guy that anyone in this city didn't know who he was. Not only was he one of the wealthiest men in the world, his company, _Stark Industries_ , was a huge (if not _the_ ) armament manufacturer for the United States besides also doing research in the range of medicine, energy generation and much more. The article also described him as a generous philanthropist who donated huge sums to various charity organizations. Also, his exact IQ is unknown (at least to the public) but is estimated to be higher than 300.

Somewhere along the line(s) Steve's jaw dropped open without him noticing. Was this really about the same man he met at the café? The same guy who had been so hostile towards him for no reason and added only more confusion to his already nebulous thoughts and memories?

While he stared at the largest of photos printed next to the article he started to feel uneasy. Didn't he... meet him elsewhere except at the café? He had a strange feeling about that, but he couldn't figure out where it came from. And there was something else about him... something that awakened the urge to search for him, to find him and at least ask him about the things he had said. Yeah, he had stated that they were enemies, but according to these words on the paper in Steve's hands, he couldn't be a bad guy... could he? So why would he threaten him out of nowhere?

Steve needed answers. And one of the pictures showing a large tower might take him exactly where he would find them.

 

One would think that some outstanding building with the letters _'STARK'_ on it would be easy to find, right? Wrong. Obviously, if you had been asleep for the past couple of decades you wouldn't have a clue where to go, and if you happened to look like a vagrant (his clothes were all in all clean but a reflective surface showed Steve that his face was slightly bruised and filthy looking, as well as his arms – why didn't he notice that earlier?!) it didn't make it all to easy to ask people for the way.

Finally a homeless man, worse looking than him, was kind enough to tell him how he would get to Stark Tower.

"Thank you very much, Sir", Steve responded with a polite smile.

"Don't mention it, son. You know.. I once owned the place. But then they found out I had fleas so they put me in a decontamination cell but I escaped by calling my friends via brain waves and they teleported me out of there."

"... That is... um... congratulations on that, Sir."

Slowly Steve turned around, trying hard not to let his empathy distract him from his main goal. He had to concentrate... and walk another 12 blocks assuming that the man had given him the right directions.

To his surprise he actually made it. Looking up, he could already see Stark Tower from afar. But getting there was only the first step – and the easiest one, too. Now he had to figure out how to find the very boss of this company, given that he was even on the spot.

Entering the building, he doubted that there would be any sign telling him where Tony Stark was to be found, so...

"Excuse me", Steve approached one of the young women at the reception.

"Welcome to Stark Tower, how may I help you, S-" The 'ir' didn't quite make it out of her mouth when her eyes met Steve's appearance.

"I'm... looking for Mister Stark. Tony Stark. I wondered if he was available, by any chance..."

For a few seconds Steve could clearly watch the lady think of anything to respond while her lips formed a very weird kind of smile. But finally she cleared her throat.

"I'm afraid you need an appointment", she said while her eyes kept running over the blonde's messy hair, face and arms, mutely adding 'and you could use a shower before that'.

Sighing, Steve rested his elbows on the counter, slightly leaning towards her.

"Listen, this is... some kind of emergency. We're... old pals and I really need his help." Steve was really bad at lying. "Is there any chance you could call him for me and let me speak to him for a few seconds?" Mentioning his name wouldn't get him anywhere since he didn't think he had even introduced himself.

"I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to do that", the woman replied.

"But it's urgent! I know he is busy and all, but if you would just inform him about-"

"Sir, I have to ask you to leave this building or else I will have to call security", she interrupted in a steady voice, clearly audible to her colleague next to her who instantly looked at her and Steve. The latter went silent and took a step back from the counter, slightly nodding.

"I understand. Sorry for stealing your time, Miss", he said and turned around, slowly heading for the exit and feeling them both stare at his back while he moved to make sure that he really did leave the tower.

Well, that attempt hadn't been too successful. Maybe he should have sneaked in and tried to find Mr. Stark on his own, but he was pretty sure that he wouldn't have gotten far with that either. Maybe there was a side or delivery entrance? He could-

"If that isn't the precious little puppy returning to its owner", a cynical voice made him jerk with surprise. When he looked for its source, he found a black car driving up to the tower with the back window lowered. Steve couldn't decide whether this was his lucky day or if he should run as long as he still could. No, he hadn't come here for nothing.

"I should take you to the pet barber sometime, though", the man said when he got out of the car which took off the very second he had left it.

Steve only answered that with a not-at-all-amused stare while Stark came closer but went by, aiming for the entrance of the tower.

"I'm surprised you dared to show up", the smaller man with dark brown hair said, assuming that Steve would follow him, it seemed. And so he did.

"I have to talk to you", the soldier let him know, catching up to him with a few large steps.

"Aw, and here I thought you would take me out for dinner."

Slightly irritated Steve got a glimpse at the clock over the counter he just had been driven away from. In fact it was already past 5 pm... damn, he had wasted nearly the whole day striving around and then searching for this blockhead. And he still hadn't eaten anything yet...

A little too late Steve noticed that they had almost already arrived at the security check that only employees of Stark Industries or accounted visitors could pass.

"Wait, I really need to-", he tried to prevent Stark from walking past the gate while one of the security agents already eyed Steve up.

"It's alright, he's with me", he then heard out of the brunette's mouth as he walked past the guy who was even larger than Steve. In disbelieve both of them stared at the billionaire but Steve was quick to follow him through the strange looking, black frame everyone had to pass when entering.

Without another word they entered the elevator at the end of the row that clearly said _'PRIVATE'_ on its top. So Tony Stark was too hoity-toity to travel with his subjects, huh?

"You coming?", he heard him ask when he entered the elevator and waited for him to jump in as well. Steve sped up his steps and got in before the billionaire pressed his thumb against a small, black screen that flickered bluish for a second before the elevator was put into motion.

There was a short period of awkward silence when Stark pulled out a small device that looked similar to those almost everyone seemed to have nowadays, mostly black and flat, except this one was more transparent. As far as the soldier from the past could tell, these were used for telephoning. Sometimes, though, people started to move their fingers along the flat surface, just like the man next to him did now. Without really being in control of his actions, Steve slowly leaned a little closer, trying to see what the small screen was showing, but interrupted by Stark suddenly putting the device away.

"That's a nice outfit you got there."

Steve had a feeling that this wasn't exactly a compliment.

"Incomplete, maybe", the billionaire continued as he looked at the other man's feet, "but I really like those jeans."

There was no way he would reply to that.

After a short time that seemed like mere seconds to Steve the elevator came to a halt – never could he have imagined that they had already reached the upper floors of this high building. The first thing to notice when they left the elevator cabin was something different though: This didn't look like an office or anything like that, more like an inflated lounge, very spacious and furnished with what seemed to be only the best of the best. Was Stark actually living here?

"So what brings you here?", the dark haired man asked while heading for the bar on the other side of the room without looking at Steve. "If you want to return yesterday's favour, go ahead, give it a try."

"Come again?", Steve said, slowly heading for the centre of the lounge while glancing at a bowl of fruits standing on the table next to the sofa.

"My side still hurts, you know", Stark added, obviously giving him a hint that he couldn't catch. Steve's now irritated look slid from the fruits directly to the brunette who poured himself a glass of whiskey or something like that. Ugh, alcohol... Steve would never be one for that.

Slowly raising both eyebrows the billionaire remained silent for a few moments, then shook his had.

"Nevermind", was all he had to say before taking a sip of his drink and stepping in front of the bar again but keeping his distance.

"Listen, I...", Steve started too early before really arranging his thoughts. "I have to talk to you. There are... a lot of questions that need to be answered and I might need your help on that."

"Name one reason why I should even consider helping you."

Steve's eyes darkened slightly but he would try to keep his composure.

"There... is none, I guess. But I have a feeling that you are the only one around here who could", he had to admit.

"I still don't feel like doing it, though."

The other's tone of voice was something that lessened his hopes quite a bit but Steve Rogers wasn't one to give up so easily. He would get answers, no matter what! So he lifted his right hand in which he still held the newspaper, folded so it would show the article about the great and glorious Tony Stark.

"If you really are the man this article is about, if you are nearly as smart and generous as described... you won't turn me down", Steve asserted but only caused a smirk to appear on his opposite's face.

"First: Apple-polishing will get you nowhere. And second: If I were you, I wouldn't rely on the 'facts' in those kind of articles", Stark replied, slowly approaching the taller blonde.

"Sorry to disappoint you but I'm not one of the good guys", he assured him while pressing two fingers against the soldier's chest which made Steve arch his back a little, trying to make an escape from the pain before he finally took one step back. How did he-... was that on purpose? But the bruise wasn't even visible through the t-shirt...

"Why do you do charity then?", he asked, more to distract himself from the thought of Stark being able to read minds or spooky things like that.

"I'm an arms dealer. Gotta buff up my image somehow", was the answer on that, coming with a shrug.

"But your weapons are used by the US Army to fight terrorism", Steve reasoned.

"Ah, yeah... still the best promotion."

A short blaze of sadness and disappointment showed on Steve's face while he slowly began to realize that this wouldn't turn out to be of any help at all. For a minute, maybe for less than that, he had even thought that there might have been a purpose for him to rest seventy years... to wake up in a distant time, in a whole different world, now being able to find not only answers but maybe the person he was searching for in the first place.

With a brief movement of his hand he tossed the newspaper on the table, right next to the bowl of too delicious looking fruits.

"Maybe I was wrong about you after all...", he muttered whilst turning around.

"Where do you plan on going?", he heard a voice behind him that might as well be his own because that's what he asked himself, too.

"I don't know yet. But I will have to find _someone_ who helps me and if you aren't going to do so, I have no business with you", he answered tonelessly, not stopping his feet and returning to the elevator that brought him up here when he suddenly realized... that there was no button. There was only one of these weird, black squares the other man had touched inside of the elevator cabin before. Hesitantly Steve also pressed his thumb against it, but the screen wouldn't turn blue, but orange.

Just when he thought about asking for the door (there had to be stairs that led down somewhere) Stark's amused voice raised behind him.

"Did you really think I'd let you go just yet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah... quite a long chapter this time. (Took me long enough, duh.)  
> Hope you enjoyed. :3 If you did I'd really appreciate a short feedback, criticism, headcanons, whatever you're up to.
> 
> (Once again dedicated to the most amazing girl I know. ♥)


	6. - Transposition -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I've been very busy (and happy) lately. (Not that anyone would really care about how this shenanigans is gonna end, but still.)
> 
> Anyway, I haven't hit a dead end yet. In fact, my brain recently went wild with how this fanfiction might continue. And for the purpose of all of this making sense someday (as if) there has been a minor change in one of the previous chapters. You probably won't remember anyway, so I won't bother telling you what (or who) it was. (/°-°)/

Tony couldn't help but smirk a whit as he sedately approached Mr. Not-as-human-as-he-thinks-he-is. Seeing as he didn't dare to turn around but let his look wander in hope to find a staircase – which, of course, existed but wasn't to be found near the elevator – filled the Billionaire with a very strange kind of satisfaction one would only gain by watching a kitten trying to catch the teasing light of a laser pointer but failing. Though, in this case, 'dog' would be the more appropriate definition. Did dogs also chase little red dots along walls and floors? This one definitely would.

But Tony didn't bring him here to play. Maybe a little. But even in playful matters Tony never lost track of his initial intentions.

First of all, he had to figure out whether this specimen of Versipellis was either very special or just especially dumb. A greenhorn to the whole genre, yeah, but Tony had _warned_ him before and still that boy had returned for him in good faith and trust. Somehow he seemed to lack that natural instinct to distrust vampires and the urge to tear them apart with his bare teeth – as soon as he was able to, that is. In the form of a human he couldn't harm Tony even if he tried.

"I see", he heard the tall, blonde figure speak to the elevator even though this words were obviously addressed towards him. "So you lured me into this-", he finally turned around, not facing the brunette but vaguely pointing at the exclusive furniture, "golden cage to finish me off like you threatened to do, didn't you?" Still their eyes didn't meet while Tony came even closer to the 'beast'.

"That's not my style", the smaller man reacted with a shrug, now following the other's gaze along to the fruit bowl, but seemingly he had a feeling that he had been found out because suddenly the blonde decided to return the look.

"What _is_ your style, then?", big bad wolfie wanted to know.

"Following you into an abandoned factory for a fair fight, for example."

"A fair-... what-..."

Okay, up to now Tony had considered a small chance for that guy taking him for an idiot by claiming not to know shit about anything and pretending to have some sort of amnesia. Not anymore. Having forgotten their fight and their conversation before was the only reasonable explanation why he still had the guts to come here. Okay, the werewolf had done okay so far in beating him up. He even had tickled him a little with his teeth. But that had been pure beginner's luck.

Slowly, though, his words seem to have triggered something in the taller man's mind because he dropped his gaze and bred over what the Stark had just said to him. Patiently Tony folded his arms before his chest and waited until he could read in the blue of his eyes that he just now realized what had happened the day before.

"You were there", he said and Tony was almost tempted to counter with a 'duh'. "You were down there... you followed me."

Tony only turned away and unfolded his arms again. "I just said that! Listening must be an art form", he acted upset over that brilliant conclusion as if there were any audience besides his one special guest who fell silent again but was thinking so hard it was almost audible.

"You waited for me to turn into-... that", the guy seemed to remember a bit more of their chat last night. "But..."

Tony could exactly read the words _"How are you still alive?"_ on his lips as he decided to stare at him in disbelief. Slowly but steadily the billionaire started to wonder if poor little puppy was even aware of the existence of vampires. Wait, hasn't there been a story about a coffin he had woken up in? Tony figured that one of his sort must have been involved in that somehow, but... it's not like he should give a damn about that.

Mere 3 feet away from the blonde, he stood still and surveyed his opposite's face thoroughly. This was not acting. In fact, the look of those clear, blue eyes made him think that this man must be incapable of lying and such.

"You're starting to realize who I am, don't you?", Tony figured with a half-grin on his lips, additionally leaning towards the bigger man, still staring him straight in the eyes. " _What_ I am", he corrected himself pro forma. And it _did_ seem like the young man tried not only to remember last night but to travel a whole lot of a distance back in time. And whatever it was that he thought of, it made his nasal wings quaver for a second.

"Ah, that's more like it", Tony purred in satisfaction, almost as if this was exactly the reaction he had hoped for, and lifted his hand to poke his index finger against the man's chin where he could feel just tiny bits of whiskers, hardly visible to the eye.

Somehow he liked to tease him. Maybe this would develop into a funny little game, something that would serve his amusement for the next few days or weeks.

Of course, the other man didn't put up with that humiliating gesture and raised his chin to intercept the touching, his face speaking _'Who do you think you are?'_ oh too loudly while his lips stayed perfectly still – until he finally spoke out what was on his mind.

"You're one of them", the tall blonde answered that unspoken question himself, his gaze reflecting the heap of disgust that must have formed inside his stomach during the past few seconds.

"Took you long enough to figure it out", the billionaire replied impassively and slowly turned on his heels, strolling away from his new friend towards the landscaped interior. "Even though I told you from the very beginning." He knew exactly what was coming. Not because he could hear two silent footsteps or how the expensive piece of 'art' (some unidentifiable soapstone garbage) was lifted. He had seen the attack coming even before the idea had fully formed inside that adorably messed-up head.

No matter at what speed that ugly lump would have come at him, dodging it would have been a breeze, but only by catching it (he wouldn't have mourned for the sculpture but the coffee table was one of his favourites) Tony noticed the fierce anger it had been thrown with. Still, he held the piece as long as his arm and quite heavy with ease in one hand as he peeked over his shoulder.

"What were you planning to do? Knock me out and then find an escape?", Tony mocked him. "I thought you wanted answers?"

"You said you weren't going to help me", he heard the blonde gnarl while Tony himself sat down on an armchair near the coffee table, putting the sculpture next to the armrest of his chair and made a short but polite gesture towards the couch.

"I never said that", Tony insisted. "I said I don't _feel_ like doing it. But I constantly have to do things I'd rather not, so I might as well listen to your questions before deciding whether or not you're wasting my time."

It was obvious that the guy didn't believe him at all, causing Tony to sigh.

"Don't give me that distrusting-puppy-look. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so already", he assured him – better not mentioning that this was exactly what he had intended last night. He couldn't have possibly guessed just how much of a tough cookie that guy was.

Speaking of cookies: This time the Stark noticed the other man's look at the fruit bowl that was standing on the smaller table next to the sofa.

"Help yourself", he invited him to have a bite but again only received a strange look somewhere between blankness and disappointment that made Tony feel the sudden urge to simultaneously bitchslap him and eat him up.

"The fruits", he clarified before the young man could wonder whether the billionaire might take his offer back and not help him in the end. "You look hungry, so..."

It took them a few seconds but finally those bare feet dragged their owner towards the table. He didn't sit down but at least he grabbed one of the apples and stared at it. That can be considered progress, right?

"It's not poi-"

"Why do you keep that stuff around?"

"... Huh?"

"Food. You don't need to eat, do you." That was more of a statement than a question.

"Oh." Tony bent forward in his chair and rested his elbows on his knees, taking a long, but still shallow breath before continuing. "Sentiment... I guess." He waited until he could feel the other man's eyes rest on him. "You're right, I don't need to eat anymore. Food doesn't taste the same for me as it did once. But I still have my memories", he continued and risked a quick look at his opposite's face before suspiring at the bowl. "Sometimes I spend hours just... looking at it. Remembering its taste and adoring its..." – he paused to find the right wording – "impermanence."

And just when he thought he had overdone his little skit he found the blonde looking at him as if he had just made some kind of heartbreaking confession. Now that's just lovely. And fucking unfair.

Tony couldn't even thoroughly enjoy the success of his shenanigans and leaned back with a sigh, rubbing his temple with one hand.

"Will you stop that?", he demanded because he couldn't stand the other man looking at him like he was an orphan who had just dropped his lollipop on a turd, dammit.

"Believe it or not, I happen to be a very social being _and_ a business man who invites guests up here every now and then. Not particularly werewolves, but you get the point. So sit down and eat."

He took the red gleam on the other's cheeks as compensation for that disaster of a joke.

At least – finally – the man decided to take a seat kitty corner to him, at a supposedly save distance.

"So", Tony began after a few more seconds of staring (and him waiting for his opposite to start eating which didn't happen, though). "Speak up, what kind of thorn is stuck in our little wolfie's paw?"

"Rogers", was the prompt (and kind of annoyed sounding) answer.

"Who?"

"Steve Rogers. My name", he explained and watched the vampire rest his chin on his knuckles.

"Nah. Wolfie fits you better."

This guy's frowns gave him the most pleasing chills there be.

"How about 'pooch'?"

More chills. And Tony's grin was growing wider with any passing second.

"You prefer 'puppy', then? Or I could- Oh, come on, I'm just kidding! Sit down", he tried to keep Steve from leaving as though he meant it. There was no way for him to escape anyway, still the billionaire even popped a "Please?" for him. Luckily the other man spared him the trouble to tie him to some sturdy furniture to keep him here and lowered his bottom again.

"I didn't come here to be made fun of", the blonde said in a strict voice as if he was still thinking he could henpeck the conversation. That was cute.

"Yeah, you need help and answers and probably a pair of shoes. Or... fitting clothes in general", Tony amplified, his eyes again scanning his opposite from head to knees (the rest was hidden by the coffee table) when a loud growl came from the other man's gastric area. "And nourishment." He nodded towards the still unbitten apple in Steve's left hand. The thought of eating in a somewhat tense situation like this seemed secondary, probably. Still, Tony was persistent.

"How about this: I will give you the answers you seek – as far as I'm capable of doing so – but not on an empty stomach", he suggested and was delighted by the view of the blonde misinterpreting his assertion completely. " _Your_ stomach", he therefore clarified with a smirk.

Hesitantly but finally Steve brought the apple to his mouth and took a bite. And merely a second passed before he took a second and a third one.

When Steve had finished his apple Tony had already arrived at one of the control panels in his apartment.

'Yes, Sir?', a British male voice reacted to him sliding his finger over the panel. J.A.R.V.I.S. had still been muted from the day before when Tony didn't feel like seeing or talking to anyone after his 'defeat' – which he still didn't consider one.

"Whatever had been on the cafeteria menu today, let 'em bring one of each up here", Tony ordered.

'That would be two starters, four entrees, two kinds of salads and six deserts.'

"Sold."

When Tony turned around he found the man looking at him very sceptically.

"And make sure the food's not poisoned", he added only for mocking reasons.

'Of course, Sir.'


	7. - Retrospection -

Maybe it was only because Steve hadn't properly eaten in days, but to him it seemed like he had never ever before laid hands (or teeth) on any meal this delicious. Heck, he didn't even know what most of these dishes were called but every single one of them made his taste buds explode in all kinds of sensations. (He probably would have eaten sand at this point, but he was grateful that he didn't have to.) And in just 40 minutes – while Stark kept observing him from a distance which he didn't give a damn about right now, though – he finished all the two starters, four entrees, two kinds of salads and six deserts that had, like, magically arrived through the elevator before with no one bringing them. Seemed to him that Mr. Stark didn't like any personnel up here while he was around.

Their eyes met again only after Steve had wiped out the last bit of chocolate mousse (which was the only thing he could entirely identify so he saved that for last) and looked up from all the empty plates and bowls. The water jar that had been brought along had also run dry already.

"Taste good?", the other man mockingly asked like it wasn't obvious.

"It did." Steve was careful not to start any hymn of praise about how delicious every single dish had been and how full his stomach was now. But even though the satiation was only starting to kick in and make him crave for a quick nap, he would never allow himself to let his guard down, well aware that this might have been the vampire's initial plan...

"So?", his conspiratorial thoughts were disturbed.

"... Thanks for the meal?", Steve more or less guessed what Stark wanted to hear from him – which he was seemingly wrong about because his host cracked a smile.

"You're welcome", he stated anyway, "but I thought you were gonna annoy me with some questions as soon as you're finished."

Oh, right... Steve had almost forgotten the reason he had come to Stark Tower.

"But before we get started", he was interrupted right when he opened his mouth. Stark didn't intend to finish his sentence, though, but instead walked up to him – too slow for an attack and too casual for sneaking up on him. It wasn't hard to tell that the vampire's amused grin was caused by the tremendous amount of irritation written all over Steve's face.

Intuitively, the blonde tried to escape the hand approaching his lips by leaning backwards but the couch's backrest put and end to his flight plan. So the unavoidable touch of the other's thumb at the corner of his mouth was bound to send a slight shiver of uncertainty over his neck and made his hair stand on end. But before Steve could put up a fight or react in any other appropriate way (by sending Stark flying through one of the windows, for example) the hand was gone and the brunette licked the small amount of chocolaty good off his thumb, giving him a hard to place smirk.

"I thought your sense of taste had faded...", Steve gave an utterance to his scepticism even though he wasn't so sure about the other man's honesty concerning what he had told him before.

"Oh, I didn't do that for the taste", he answered but didn't make an effort to explain any further than that. Instead, he turned around and let his feet carry him back to the bar where he poured another glass of whiskey after refilling his own. He then came back with both glasses and put one of them on the table right in front of Steve.

"Thanks, but I don't drink", the blonde said in a strict manner as if the billionaire had done something really offending.

"Just thought you needed one to loosen that tongue of yours", Stark let him know and received a frown from the taller man as soon as he sat down in his chair again. "Why don't we start with you telling me who – _who_ , not _what_ – you are?", he suggested after taking a sip from his drink. "Where are you from?"

Steve hesitated for a moment but then realized that keeping quiet would get him nowhere. He came to find the answers he seeked and something told him that he would find them here, in this tower, right out of that man's mouth.

"Brooklyn", he answered and somehow his mimic grew a little softer, mostly because thinking of home induced a warm feeling inside his chest. That didn't last for long, though.

"It's much more a matter of _when_ than where", Steve continued, expecting the other man to give him a surprised look – or at least anything but that freaking unimpressed expression. Just barely swirling the glass in his hand, Stark looked him straight in the eyes, maybe not entirely sure about the blonde's mental health state, maybe thinking about something entirely different. Steve couldn't tell.

"So you're what – a time traveler?", his voice then rang partly amused, partly cynical.

"Not exactly. I... skipped a few years." That sounded like a confession, like something he was strangely ashamed of. His gaze went up to the ceiling again. "Last thing I know it's 1944... and suddenly it isn't anymore."

"Sounds an awful lot like some late 80ies lyrics", the brunette stated. Steve just frowned. "It rhymed...", Stark tried to explain but only caused Steve to feel like he was being made fun of.

"Nevermind... uh... Did they put you in some kind of cryostasis?", he then tried to change the topic – or get back to the main subject.

"I... what?"

"Did they freeze you?"

Steve shook his head and lowered his gaze.

"I was trapped in some sort of..." – talking about coffins in presence of a vampire all of a sudden seemed strangely inappropriate – "box", he ended his sentence therefore. "Sealed with chains, hard to break through." The blonde bit his lip for a second. "I just don't remember how that happened... or why anybody would put me in there." Most likely because he was a werewolf. Duh.

From the corner of his eye he saw the brunette tilt his head to the side. Did he not believe him?

"You can't remember", he repeated slowly and hummed. "Is that so..."

Steve sat up and looked to the side like searching for a memory placed anywhere in this room.

"I'm not sure", he admitted. "I remember the faces and the names and what happened before. But it's that particular day I can't recall." Again, he looked up, seeking Stark's gaze that rested upon him firmly. "All I know for certain is that I woke up with the urge to... find them."

"Who's _them_?"

"My best friend...", he answered and his face went a little paler, "and my..."

Stark licked his lips with a tense expression. He seemed to reason that the blonde was going to say 'wife' or 'girlfriend' or something like that.

"That was seventy years ago. They probably-"

"I know", Steve stopped him from saying it out loud. "I... know. But then... at least I need to know what happened to them."

"And... I'm supposed to help you with that how exactly?"

A fair question which was not that easy to answer. But Steve squared his shoulders and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Because whatever put me in that coffin" – damn, the word just slipped – "and turned me into... what I am... affected them, too, somehow. I don't know how, but something tells me that I've spent my last hours back in 1944 with the both of them. Something happened. M-maybe something bad. And I need to know what that was."

In the end Steve's voice had lost most of its solid structure. Now that he allowed himself to sink a little further into those thoughts he was damn sure that something awful had happened. There were silhouettes and phrases buzzing through his mind but not a memory he could clutch.

"I still don't know how I can help", he heard Stark say, sounding like he really meant it. "Not if you give me more information. I need data, names, places", he suggested. "Anything I can feed a computer with. That might get us somewhere."

For a moment Steve looked at him as though he doubted any of this would be of any use, as though his hope was already fading.

"James Buchanan Barnes", he then spit out, "and Peggy Carter."

_

A bunch of hours of research left them with absolutely nothing except frustration and headaches. While Tony refused to believe that the device he constantly jammed in the names wouldn't spit out the information they had hoped for, Steve paced up and down the room, desperately trying to remember anything else helpful. He knew Bucky's date of birth, where he went to school, where he used to work, things like that, but when it came to how he spent his life during the 1940ies, nothing was to be found.

Steve heard Tony swear and make phone calls and swear again when it turned out that he had wasted his time on them. The billionaire was surprisingly persistent about this. And Steve felt kind of bad for not being able to do anything more than trying to remember.

When it came to Peggy Carter, though, Steve couldn't come up with anything. He knew her name and he remembered her face, her fragrance, the soft touch of her cooling fingertips on his cheeks and forehead when he had been struck by a fever, but that was not the kind of information they could work with. She never told him when her birthday was, or where she had been born. Come to think of it, he never asked.

"I think we're done for today", Tony finally gave up, stretching his arms over his head. "We'll come up with a new plan", he said in an encouraging voice. "Maybe the lady from Vital Records will give me a call tomorrow. I wouldn't want that half an hour of shameless flirting to go to waste."

Steve hardly paid attention to Tony's words, letting his gaze wander over the lights he discovered outside the glass façade. The sun had already set, yet the world shined brighter than in daylight. A million lights where moving or standing still, changing their shapes and colors. They were probably the reason the moon decided to hide behind a curtain of clouds tonight.

"Sounded way too old for my taste. If she's up for a date, I'll make _you_ go, just sayin'...", Tony finished his statement even if just to wait for the other man's reaction... which didn't happen.

"I have to get to business in a few. If you want, you can stay the night. Just-... Are you listening?"

"Sorry", Steve exhaled, pulled out of his thoughts and throwing him an asking look when he turned around.

"I said you could stay", Tony repeated, "This floor is equipped with a bathroom and a bed and... pretty much everything. Except a kitchen. But if you're hungry, just call out to Jarvis."

Steve's gaze turned a bit more confused.

"The voice you heard before. Jarvis is an intelligent program you can communicate with as if it's a real person." Gladly, he explained it so that Steve understood... so that any grade schooler would understand, in fact. Still, whatever that thing was, exactly, Steve put up with the fact that this was too technologically high-toned for him to truly comprehend.

"So feel free to order whatever you want", the brunette underlined as if he knew that Steve's stomach felt empty already again, which was kind of impossible considering the huge amount of food he had assimilated a couple of hours ago.

"Thanks", was all the taller man could come up with at this point. Somehow he wanted to ask where Tony was going, even if just to show (and not even fake) a little interest, but his mouth stayed shut while the billionaire grabbed his mobile device and headed for the elevator.

"Don't wait up for me, honey", was the last advice he left his visitor with, feeling no necessity to look over his shoulder to know exactly that Steve was rolling his eyes.

It was 2 am when Steve found his way into the bedroom after showering. For a short moment he was surprised by the lack of Tony's scent in here when he remembered that the room was probably cleaned up every single day... just before he realized that maybe Tony didn't even set foot in the bedroom at all. Did vampires need sleep? Did they actually rest in coffins? No way, the sheer thought of anyone cuddling up in a narrow, wooden box was ridiculous. He had been there. And it wasn't very comfortable.

Anyway, Tony _did_ invite him to use his bed, didn't he? Spurning that offer would be just impolite. Also, Steve's body craved that smooth, soft mattress and the silky covers.

And so he stripped from his shirt and jeans (putting them on again after the shower had been pretty pointless, he noticed), crawled under the blanket and stretched, relishing the feeling of cosy fabric on his skin that slowly grew warmer the longer he laid there. The lights dimmed automatically and eventually went out – Steve concluded that this must be the intelligent program's doing. The thought creeped him out a little bit, but only until his eyes closed and his body gave in to its weariness...

_

_Fangs. Glistening white fangs and dark fur around golden yellow eyes. The ground is almost shaking from a bloodcurdling growl. There's the smell of panic in the air, of fear, aggression and bloodthirst, and Steve can't even tell which of those emotions are his own._

_And then there's Peggy, eyes opened wide and in horror._

_"No!", she screams. "What have you done?!"_

_The growl becomes more intense and Steve can feel his own pipes vibrate._

_"NO!"_

_White teeth aim straight for her throat, intending nothing less than to slit it open. Another scream, a howl, the sound of cracking bones and torn flesh and the scent of blood fill the cold air. And everything is bathed in red..._

_

When Steve woke up, his heart was about to break his thorax in half. Sitting up, he buried his face in the palms of his hands, shaking, at the verge of throwing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short chapter, again. There are one or two twists (and maybe some fluff) ahead, though, so look forward to it!
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment.
> 
> (And Happy Monthy to my hunbun~ Muchas lovas!)


	8. - Perfusion -

The lights were out when Tony returned in the early morning hours. Dinner hadn't been half bad (in terms of company rather than food) and quite amusing... and it would have been even more fun if he wouldn't have had to constantly think of a certain blue eyed blonde and his stupid werewolf problems.

Very much to his liking (for whatever reason), the amount of empty plates on the table had increased by at least three or four. Damn, that guy sure didn't look like it, but he must have been starving – which wasn't much of a surprise keeping in mind that he had had an empty stomach for seventy years.

For the umpteenth time this night Tony tried to come up with a scenario where a beefcake like Steve could have been thrown into a coffin and locked away. Maybe he had been unconscious. But even so, he wouldn't have just slept for such a long time but woken up and panicked and asphyxiated and whatnot.

Also, Tony didn't know of any werewolf living this long. First, they were aging just as fast as normal humans did, and second, they were likely to get themselves into deep shit and, as a consequence, killed. Not that he had known any of them in person but they must have been real idiots for coming after him. After vampires in general. Never had he ever heard of a werewolf successfully hunting down one of their kind – at least none of the powerful ones. Maybe the rookies, those who couldn't handle their powers yet or were still too confused about what was going on. Yeah, maybe. Not like anyone would really care about the noobs.

So no matter from what angle, it looked like he had found himself something special. A riddle he wanted to solve. And those were rare these days.

Slipping off his shoes and jacket he stepped into the dark, no problem seeing without the lights on. Being a vampire sure could axe your power costs – not that there was any need for that for a billionaire.

Walking further, he noticed a faint shimmer out of one of the rooms. Not the bedroom but the library. Last time he had checked his watch, a few minutes ago, the hour hand had just passed the 5 – symbolically speaking. The watch around Tony's wrist had a digital display. He liked the analog ones, too. That's why he had kept a few over the years, saved them for special occasions. But occasions became less and less special over time when it feels like you have been through every single one multiple times already.

Slowly he pushed open the door to the library and narrowed his eyes for a second to adapt to the light, even if it was dim. (Seeing in the dark: no problem. Sudden incidence of light: meh.) Except for the LED extrusions under the rows of books, emitting just enough light to allow you to read the titles and the authors on the books' spines, the only lamp lit in the room was the one Steve was sitting under at one of the old desks. Seems like he hadn't bothered to turn on the main illumination on the ceiling. Or he hadn't figured out how it worked. (Clapping. You had to clap twice. Old-school, yeah, but obviously an innovation Steve had overslept.)

The library itself was a weird piece of design. While the lighting was expedient and modern, the furniture didn't only look vintage, it was pretty damn old. Hardly anything in here fit together. The chairs and desks were made out of massive cedar, oak or rosewood. There was even a chair formed out of wrought iron, not petite like those seen in front of fancy cafés, but bulky and with a few old machinery parts worked into it. A present of an old friend of his, an artist who had passed away over 30 years ago. You can't sit on it longer than about a minute, though, if you don't want to risk your ass cheeks falling off.

Finding that Steve had chosen Tony's favourite desk – an old, broad workbench with a pivoted tabletop –he cracked a smile as he stepped closer. The blonde only noticed his footsteps when he had gotten close to the desk but didn't get the chance to apologize for maybe intruding a private area before Tony rose his voice.

"Whatcha readin'?", he asked casually, eyeing the book on the table, then the hand Steve had placed on top of the page he was done reading.

Steve hesitated to answer, possibly overwhelmed by Tony's presence to a point where he couldn't even recall the title of the book he was reading. _(Sure, Tony.)_ Again, before he was able to respond, Tony had already lifted the book so he could answer the question himself.

"Brave New World", he read out loud, nodding in approval. "Been a while since I drew that one out of the shelf."

"It was the first I found that was familiar...", Steve explained and leaned back into the old, softly creaking leather chair with the left armrest being a little loose. "It was never my favourite. I didn't like the thought of... well, future turning out like that."

Tony's eyes were glued to the opened pages for a second. "Nope. Sure wouldn't want things to be that way." He paused for a second. "The thought behind population regulation and task allocation is kinda economic, tho-"

"It's sick", Steve countered.

"That's what the world is", Tony shrugged. "Sorry to break it to you that way."

Steve went silent, gazing past the brunette to the centre of the room, his arms now folded. Sighing, Tony realized that that was probably not something anyone would want to hear when waking up to a world that had changed pretty drastically during their last nap.

"I'd take that back if it wasn't the truth", he somewhat apologized. "The world is hideous. The human race is. You don't have to become a hundred years old to realize that", the billionaire went on, slowly moving his feet across the floor, first in one direction, then in the other, for the pure sake of not standing still.

"But there aaare a bunch of cool things you missed out on, too. Like... solar technology. CGI-movies. Woodstock. JFK... KFC..." He only received a clueless look from Steve – too many abbreviations, maybe. "Diet Coke?", he then added with a half-smile. "... Okay, how about the wheel? Or fire?"

Steve was rolling his eyes. Still, the corners of his mouth pointed a tiny bit upwards now. Good enough.

"Don't worry", the billionaire said after a few more seconds of fortunately not-as-awkward-as-before silence. "I'll make sure you don't get lost."

Will he? That came out surprisingly confident and oddly determined. So far, he had only said he would help Steve doing some research about his pals from the past.

Pals from the past. Great name for a tv show. _(No, in fact that'd be a horrible name.)_

But other than that, he hadn't made any promises. No one would force him to get Steve through his daily struggles in this new and confusing world. It was just... the thought of a puppy straying through the cold streets of New York was totally heartbreaking, even for a vampire. And since he had already offered him to stay here, Tony might as well get a bit of fun out of this. Hopefully. Because Tony Stark was quick to lose interest in things nowadays, and if that happened, it'd be the end of the story.

_

Steve really hadn't heard him entering the library – not because he had been engrossed in the book, but in his thoughts. Some of them kept circling around what would wait for him out there, how he was supposed to find what he was searching for and whether he would be able to adapt to the present world or not, on condition that he even _wanted_ to, whilst others tried to dig deeper into his memories in hope to find something that would connect him to the dream he had had before.

Stark, however, completely threw him off track. For a short moment while staring into vivacious, hazel eyes he had completely forgotten what the hell he had been brooding over the past hours.

"I'm not planning on getting lost", Steve assured him. "I'm here to find what's lost."

Heroic words. They sounded so wrong out of his mouth right now, considering he felt as helpless as a boy who lost his mommy at the market. (Really happened to him once. No fun at all.)

But this man was not his mother. Steve wouldn't expect him to watch over some guy who had just come along out of nowhere and no _when_. Still, against all odds, the billionaire had agreed to help him.

"You look tired."

Steve didn't only look like it, he felt pretty exhausted, too, not physically but mentally.

"Having trouble sleeping?"

"Kind of", the blonde answered and wondered whether he should tell the other man about his nightmare. Somehow he had a feeling that Stark would discount it as irrelevant.

"Tell me", he insisted as if he had just read Steve's thoughts.

"Tell you what?", Steve frowned a bit.

"Whatever you were about to keep to yourself", the brunette exacted and Steve wanted to laugh it off but instead only a short snort came out.

"If you want _me_ ", Stark stated and pointed with both hands at himself, "to help _you_ , _you_ have to help _me_ help _you_ ", he continued and his hands took turns in aiming at the blonde and himself.

Steve took a deep breath, then let the air slowly flow out through his nose. The man was right. Even if his dream had been nothing more than that, a dream, it could as well contain something they needed. He had tried to filter it, to drain all information that could be of any help to their research, but so far without any success. He hadn't spent any attention to his surroundings. The only thing that he managed to visualize was the white blouse and the navy blue, knee long skirt that Peggy had been wearing that day. At least in this blurry version of events.

"I had a dream", he started explaining. The words came out slowly because Steve had to overcome the urge to shiver with every syllable he spoke.

"I saw how..." He swallowed, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. "I think I killed her", he finally put in words what had been on his mind the past few hours. Tony remained silent.

"I think she fell victim to my first transformation."

Silence filled the room again and Steve could feel a sceptical look resting on himself.

"And you think so because of your dream", Tony concluded and the blonde nodded before rising from his seat.

"I have a feeling this wasn't just a dream... but a memory", he declared his worries. "It was like I was there again. I could smell blood and fear... and I was... not human anymore. I burned on the inside and then there was a deep growl and I-"

"It was a dream", Tony cut his sentence short, "Steve – nothing more than a dream."

"How do you know?", the taller man gnarled while the brunette walked around the table and parked his ass on the table's ledge, half sitting, half leaning.

"I don't. I just don't think you killed her", he stated. "When you woke up –a few days ago – was there any blood? On you, I mean. If you had killed her, there must have been blood on your body, under your fingernails, anywhere..."

"The blood might have gotten on the fur... and the fur just... vanished or something." That was a shot in the dark because Steve knew frankly nothing about werewolves. Did the pelt fall off when they turn back? Steve didn't believe it did.

Tony hummed. "No, I'm pretty sure that's bullshit."

_Pretty sure?_

"I _felt_ how I was losing control", Steve reasoned vehemently. "I felt it just like I felt it back then!"

"Dreams would be boring if they wouldn't feel real, wouldn't they...", Tony thought out loud.

"But there was this beast's growl and it came from _my throat!_ "

"Pretty vivid dream, okay."

Steve wanted to punch him in his perfect teeth.

"You don't get it, do you?! I know very well the difference between a dream and memory!"

It was the moment Tony's hand touched his chest when he noticed that he had bent forward, almost _over_ the smaller man in front of him. For a moment Steve's irritated gaze wandered down to the spot where the palm was softly pressed against him, right in the centre of his thorax, not to push him away but to simply rest there.

"It was. A dream."

Tony's voice sounded stern but soft at the same time. He didn't seem scared at all, not even startled by Steve's little outburst. Well, why should he? In this state Steve wasn't a threat to him.

"Look... As long as there's no other evidence, a dream's just a dream. A big dump your fear is taking on your unconscious. Nothing more."

He didn't dare say a word, only stood still for another moment before straightening himself for the sake of not striking an aggressive pose. The hand also slowly retreated, leaving an empty spot.

_

Could anyone explain why the fuck Tony's heart was pounding so furiously? No one? Fine. Fuck it. It wasn't pounding anyway. Not even beating. But there was an echo inside Tony's chest that reminded him of how it once felt to have blood circulating through his body. There was a hint of warmth rising in his chest, aiming for his cheeks, crawling up his neck... wasn't there?

Afraid? Nah. Steve had caught him by surprise, that's all. Who would have thought this guy could actually lose his temper so easily over such a stupid thing? It came absolutely unexpected when he bent over him, pressing one hand against the obsolete surface of the workbench.

Okay, maybe it hadn't been just a dream. Still, there was no use in letting Steve get worked up about it. Of course his brain would try to cope with what had happened at some point and dreams were the easiest way of doing so without having to actively think about it, but right now they couldn't concentrate on ifs and maybes.

When the blonde's torso drew back Tony reflexively breathed in, thus inhaling the other man's scent. The faint hint of shampoo layered over his individual fragrance. It was almost neutral, fresh, a bit musky and strangely patriotic. _(What the hell?)_

Tony liked it. Or he _would_ like it if there wasn't still that smell of werewolf lurking behind Steve's body like a dusty shadow. A mixture of mud and blood and rust. But a moment ago all he had perceived was... Steve. The human part of him. (And he would have made a quite delicious prey, there was no denying that.)

In the end, Steve stepped away, closing his eyes and rubbing the base of his nose.

"Yeah, maybe you're right", he admitted and Tony was surprised by the lack of contradiction. His eyebrows wandered a bit upwards, revealing slight wrinkles on his forehead.

Wolfie didn't look upset anymore. Instead, he had an expression of worry and beginning despair written on his face.

For crisp's sake, this was unfair.

"Of course I am", Tony said as he stood up, "People don't call me a genius for no reason."

Steve opened one eye to throw him a sceptical glance, his fingers still locked in position on his nose.

"I wonder about that", he replied with a quarter-smirk, maybe finally willing to let himself be distracted.

"Hey", Tony defied, "If Forbes says it, it's a fact."

"Who?"

"Forbes magazine – come on, that's old hat."

"Oh. Yeah, I've seen that one", Steve remembered. "I mean... back then. I've never purchased one, but I know it's all about the rich people bragging about what and how much they have." Again, he folded his arms. "Guess that _is_ the reason I wasn't interested."

Tony didn't let that get to him. What was that headline they had used on a recent article about him? _Haters gonna hate._

"So", he therefore changed the subject right away, "are you planning on finishing the book tonight or are you catching some sleep like people your age should?"

Steve's glare lay somewhere in between irritated and devastating. Tony shrugged.

"You're an old man now", he grinned.

"Then what are you?"

"A fossil", Tony was quick to answer. And that finally cast a legit smile on Steve's lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, again. Also, sorry for no progress whatsoever.  
> There's _a lot of plot_ (say that 10 times quickly) ahead of us, still, so hang in there!
> 
> Tiny spoiler: There will FINALLY be some sexy time... maybe... somewhere in the next 3 chapters. I think. I'll be damned if there won't beAAARGH!
> 
> Happy 33rd Monthiversary. ♥


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